


The Importance of Ornamental Pillows

by Lempo Soi (Lemposoi)



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Cheating, Community: kink_bingo, Fat Character, Humiliation, M/M, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-13
Updated: 2011-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-24 09:51:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/262110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemposoi/pseuds/Lempo%20Soi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackrum visits Blouse to remind him who's boss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Importance of Ornamental Pillows

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Consent here is dubious.

Jackrum had shown up just in time for afternoon tea. Blouse watched his wife suffer gallantly through the first cup while Jackrum sat in the delicate Quirmian armchair in his threadbare sergeant's uniform with his legs splayed open and told war story after war story, often with hand gestures. The chair creaked ominously as he reached for another crumpet.

It wasn't so much Jackrum's physicality, though there was plenty to say about that, that unnerved Emmeline. There were plenty of gentlemen of her acquiantance with certain peculiarities in their appearance, from the inevitable missing limbs to some unfortunate conditions that had been with them since birth or had been brought upon by indelicate sins. No, Emmeline was quite ladylike enough to put up with any sort of gentleman, provided he really was one. The problem was rather that Jackrum wouldn't stop being Jackrum, not even when there were ladies present.

The last straw came when he bit into tobacco. “Why, the pot has grown cold,” Emmeline exclaimed, rising from her chair. “I shall go tell the cook to bring us another.”

Blouse rose as she made her escape, trying to convery apology with posture if not by word. Jackrum grinned like an imp while he watched her go.

“She's got spunk for one of them lah-di-dah types,” Jackrum said after the door closed. “I thought she'd be gone a couple of stories ago.”

“Why do you do this sort of thing?” Blouse asked the sergeant, too tired to raise his voice. He was always tired these days. This visit was the first time he had been at home since his last promotion. “You could have just said you were on official business, and we could have gone into my office.”

“That would be a lie, Captain, and by Nuggan, I am not a lying man.” Jackrum said. “I wanted to see how you were getting on. Since I've been retired, I don't hear news as fast as I used to.”

“I know for a fact that Sergeant Perks corresponds with you,” Blouse said.

“But she's a smart one, and only tells me such as she judges I should know.”

“You are retired, as you said,” Blouse reminded him. “Why not leave the running of the army to the army?”

Jackrum barked a laugh, and moved on. “So, tell me, how is that fancy piece of totty in the sack?”

Blouse bolted up out of his chair. “Sir!”

“Don't give me that. She may have spunk, but I bet she can't make you scream like I used to.”

Blouse drew himself up. “My affairs--”

Jackrum stood up, and when he did, he seemed to fill the small drawing room from wall to wall. Blouse's protest died in his throat, and he swallowed.

“Look at you, gulping like a schoolboy. I could give your knees something to tremble about.”

“My wife--” Blouse squeaked.

“I wonder,” said Jackrum, taking a step towards Blouse, “if she'll be back with a pot in a minute or two? If I was you, I'd hope not.” He took another step, and Blouse sank back into his chair. “Pull down your trousers.”

“Sergeant--”

“Of course, I could just go get her.”

“It's not the time for this,” Blouse said under his breath. “I mean to be faithful--”

“For fuck's sake,” Jackrum growled. “Do as you're told.”

Trembling, Blouse reached for the fastenings of his semi-fashionable tight white trousers and undid them, lifting his hips to slip them down.

The embroidery on the chair felt scratchy on his bare bottom. He looked up to Jackrum, and then at the door, which he knew was unlocked. Jackrum leaned over him, smelling of rum and blood and power, and Blouse knew he was already getting hard.

He didn't like Jackrum. This wasn't affection.

“Touch yourself, little man,” Jackrum whispered. “I want to see you wank until you're leaking cum, right here in this pretty little room where you have tea with your pretty little wife. But don't you dare come until I tell you you can.”

Blouse did, Gods preserve him and may Emmeline forgive him. He clasped his cock and started to massage it. Jackrum took a step back and watched. Blouse watched him watch, saw those cool, devious little eyes dart between his face and his lap, the scarred face drawn into a slight smile.

“Stop,” Jackrum said at last, when Blouse was gasping and leaking and desperate. “Here.” He tossed something into Blouse's lap.

It was a small leather ring with a clasp in it, about the width of... oh.

“Put it on, or I'll put it on for you,” said Jackrum, switching his chewing tobacco from one cheek to the other. “And you know how gentle I am about these things.”

*

“What a horrid man,” Emmeline said in an uncharacteristic moment of brutal honesty a she closed the drawing room door behind her. “I don't blame you even a little for not getting up when he finally left. We shan't be home for him again, shall we?”

“No, dear,” said Blouse.

“Not unless it's official business, of course,” Emmeline amended, then frowned. “Are you quite all right, darling?”

Blouse managed a tight smile, and clutched the ornamental pillow tighter to his lap.  



End file.
